


As Far As Explanations Go

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous Age, Ambiguous sexuality, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Michael can't afford for his ride to school to ditch him. Ryan wants details on what exactly is delaying Michael.





	As Far As Explanations Go

**Author's Note:**

> written for the phone sex prompt for seasonofkink.

Michael’s not the first teenager to wake up from a scorchingly erotic dream hard. Despite what Texan faith-based sex ed would want him to believe, a combination of significantly elder older brothers and foul mouthed acquaintances in junior high cleared up that truth long ago. Where he differs from his age group is that he doesn’t fumble one-handedly for sickly plastic-smelling cheap CVS lube upon waking. He doesn’t just shove his hand down his boxers and give himself release. Thanks to the magic of the internet he is a teenager who knows his kinks. In another generation he might have never figured it out, but Michael’s from the age of information. And what has he found out about? Edging. 

Simply put, it’s the fuckin’ best. Michael runs hot, always has. Quick to anger, quick to confront. Shouting with clenched fists is his second language. To find sex based on frustration fits perfectly. 

In an hour, a little after eight am, Ryan’s gonna arrive in his decrepit soccer van to pick him up and drive him and a handful of their friends to school. Plenty of time. Michael reaches down and starts jerking himself off. Just before he gets to the point of no return, he stops. He stands up, throws on a robe, and heads to the kitchen to start breakfast. Halfway through his glass of orange juice he puts down his bowl of cereal and strokes himself vigorously, stopping strokes before completion. He finishes his food and give it another go with traces of toothpaste foam still on the side of his mouth. He has a shower and braces his forehead against the cool tile wall. Every time Michael’s body starts to calm down, he provokes himself again. It’s infuriating to be this horny, and so fucking good.

It’s not until he simultaneously hears a horn blare and gets a text message that he realises he’s fucked up. Somewhere in his routine he lost track of time. Ryan’s here, waiting, and Michael knows him. If Michael’s not out of the house in thirty seconds, he’ll take off. Ryan’s got like fifteen step-siblings, he was raised to believe in following schedules to the letter.

Michael can’t afford to miss this ride. If he misses this ride he won’t get to school in time for first period. One more math class skipped and there’s an automatic phone call home, and then he’s really up shit creek. His only hope is convincing Ryan he’s got a good reason n to wait five minutes. After all, he can’t go out like this. Even with briefs and jeans on, he’d be noticeably hard.

Michael doesn’t want to text Ryan. His hands are filthy at this point, touching himself every few minutes, touching himself until a new little spurt of precome coats his fingers. Given the options, he takes the lesser of all the evils and presses just the amount of letters needed to pull up Ryan’s information, and calls him. 

“Can you wait a few minutes,” Michael opens the conversation with. He thinks Ryan will appreciate the conciseness. 

“Why?” Or not.

“Because I’m busy?”

“Busy. I see. Probably too busy to get a ride, then.”

Michael rolls his eyes, not that Ryan can see. “Oh, come on. Don’t be a bitch, I just need like two minutes.”

“The fuck you have to do that needs to be done now, that you can finish in two minutes?”

Well, Michael hates being interrogated just as much as Ryan hates tardiness. It’s from pure annoyance that he snaps, “jerking off!”

“Fuck off.”

“What. You don’t believe me?” Impetuousness has Michael holding his phone to his cock with his left hand for a moment, just long enough to give a few wet strokes with his right. “What about that, motherfucker?”

“Weird noises prove nothing, fuckface,” is Ryan’s snappy reply.

Now it’s just a matter of escalation. Michael aims the camera on his phone carefully downward and snaps a shot of his hand curled around his dick. It’s pretty clear cut proof.

“Oh, wow,” is Ryan’s fully out of character response. It’s enough to throw Michael, a little.

“What?”

“Okay, you can stroke it.”

“Thank you for your permission, your majesty,” Michael snaps.

“Don’t hang up,” Ryan hastily adds.

“What?” This time there’s more behind Michael’s question. Is Ryan really asking what Michael thinks he’s asking?

“Just don’t, okay? Just keep doing it.”

“That’s kinda... gay.”

“I don’t care, just-”

“Okay.” Michael’s not gay. But he’s not straight either. He is the sexuality equivalent of ‘it’s complicated’. Attraction, without necessarily the drive to actually do anything. As long as Ryan doesn’t care about the queer implications, Michael’s been over that particular panic for years now.

Michael places the hand that’s been dangling aimlessly back on his cock, and gives it a stroke. Then he figures that since Ryan can’t actually see him do it, he should let him know out loud.

“I put my hand on my dick. I’m gonna start jerking it now.”

“Fast or slow?” Ryan asks, full of breathy interest.

“Fast. Gotta go fast now.”

“I’ll wait,” Ryan says.

“It’s not about you, asshole. I’m into edging, you know what is, yeah? I’ve been edging since I got up over an hour ago. If I don’t come this time, I might strangle myself out of rage.”

“So you’re going fast...”

“So fast, fuck, so fuckin’ fast,” Michael confirms. Fuck does it feel good to have his fingers tight and quick on his dick.

“You lube up your hand so you don’t chafe?”

“Fuck no. Waste of money. If a guy can’t get his dick into it enough to spit out some precome, he doesn’t deserve to be getting off.”

“So you’re not jerking it dry.”

“Fuck no. At this point I’ve got like twelve layers of come on my dick.” Michael’s proud of how many times he’s stopped himself. This morning isn’t an all time record, he once went a full Saturday locked in his room. Still, it’s a good showing.

“Homicidally horny, hand on your dick, I bet you look good.”

“I’m fuckin’ awesome,” Michael laughs out. 

“You ever touch anything else?” Ryan asks.

“What, like my taint, my scrot, my prostate? I didn’t start jerking off yesterday. You wanna imagine me pinching my nips, go right ahead.” 

“Fuck, shit yeah,” Ryan groans. It’s the first it’s occurred to Michael that Ryan might be jerking it too. He’s okay with it. Of all the friends he’s had idle fantasies about, Ryan wouldn’t have placed high on the list of likely to reciprocate, but Michael’s not mad about being wrong. He’d listen, if Ryan started describing his own junk.

“I’m fuckin’ close. Fuck. Shit. There’s only so much a guy can take, I’ve been hard for like an hour. Shit, Jesus.”

“Come,” Ryan orders. Michael wants to laugh at him, tell him this isn’t some Fifty Shades of Grey bullshit, he doesn’t get to demand his orgasm. Nothing comes out of his throat, he’s too choked up with urgency and need. “Come on, I wanna hear you come.”

So Michael does. Not because he’s into that, specifically. Any BDSM porn he watches is pure curiosity wanking, not like the good shit, edging and sex in public. He comes because he has to, because at this point it’s a biological necessity. He moans, long and low, into the phone. It’s barely an exaggeration. Yeah, he’s a nice guy, making it good for Ryan, but also is it a hell of a thing, coming after teasing yourself for ages. 

He takes a second to catch his breath, then tells Ryan “okay, I’ll be out in thirty seconds.” He hangs up and becomes a whirlwind, wiping his cock with a wet facecloth and tossing it into the hamper, getting dressed in something that doesn’t smell like it’s been on the floor for a week, double checking he’s put all the shit he needs today in his backpack. Then he bolts outside, stopping only to do the alarm and lock the door. If they get broken into because he didn’t lock up properly, Mom will cut his balls off. 

There’s shit parking in the street, so Ryan’s idling halfway down the block. Michael lopes down the street to him, determined to not be any worse of a passenger than he already has been. He throws open the side door and heaves himself into the seat. The car smells like body spray, which probably means it smelled like spunk a minute ago. But Michael’s a decent friend. If there’s a couple of suspiciously crumpled Kleenexes in the cup holder, Michael’s not going to say anything.

Okay, no. He’s going to say one thing. “We gonna be weird about this?”

“You gonna call me the next time you jerk off?”

Ryan’s question should be accusatory. Instead he sounds weirdly hopeful. Michael’s not sure he’s ready to be tied down to anything, whether that be a sexual act, a sexual orientation, or a sex partner. He decides to go with the safest answer, a maybe. It’s as noncommittal to any answer as he can get. Hopefully Ryan can handle open-endedness as well as he handled getting suddenly gay with a friend. It's really all Michael can offer.


End file.
